Sing thy song of rapture beauteous one as you lay within the velvet folds of night’s embrace

A thousand voices caress thy mouth as thy lips give utterance to the aeons unfolding each a flame that burns the heart and of that heart a cauldron formed wherein dances an exotic brew giving rise to forms dancing upon thy skin

Skin aflame moistens as breath cools the heat that causes thee to flow outwards caught within an embrace that unfolds into another and another and yet another

Thy lips part as another claims thy body mind and soul and you are released to rise again and yet again

A thousand names have you worn upon this shimmering star A thousand more are you yet to bear as the dance eternal unfolds

The crystal vault of thy mind opens and its blood rises as invocation The drumbeat of thy heart echoes thunder down corridors of adamantine shadows Thy breath coalesces into fire sent forth upon aethyrs fecund with desire Thy back arches as you rise in passion and moisture claims you yet again

Have you not walked the aeons adorned in silk maiden and whore Did we not cross the mountains of the moon Did we not embrace within fairest Astarte’s realm Did we not cross the boundary lands within the night of pan And did we not enter the fabled city beneath solus noir

By hand eye are these cyphers cast forth A single drop of blood a tear shed in thy name So raise thy voice and of this song may we yet walk in shadows and greet the day in silence

! ! !

" "

The dust finally settled and all that remained of the windstorm were the last fleeting whispers, almost sighs, as the air stilled and its memory of the recent turbulence slipped into oblivion. Removing the mask from her face and the silk that served as a veil she looks around the room and surveys the damage left in the wake of the windstorm. What had once been opulent and certainly decadent had been reduced to debris that barely resembled its original

form. Here a picture, its frame reduced to tinder, lay upon the floor and what had once been a smile on the face of its subject had now become a grimace. Glancing to her side she caught a partial reflection in a shard of mirror breaking the surface of the sea of dust beneath her feet.

Her face, not quite as she recalled but it would serve. The crossing had been particularly irksome, though they said it would be different this time and as ever they had lied. She fondly grasps the shard of memory that lies buried deep in her heart and reflects it upon the mirror of memory. The fabled city wherein she yet dwells as she recalls the chamber which served as her exit from the realm of dreams into the even less substantial realm in which she was now cast.

The dust surrounding her, now long settled serves as a mantle beneath which he recall ascends into consciousness as she takes her first tentative step across the room, reaches a door and as she clasps its handle a tendril of sensation informs her now longer senses. The room dismantled and dismembered now fades and her exit is attended by a thousand voices raised in prayer and celebration. For again the House Of Dolls has been breached and the day star bids her welcome. Before her a turquoise plain of rolling hills beckons and upon a path of amethyst that weaves its way through the hills she steps.

A stream of liquid gold undulates across the terrain and this she must follow for as it is written all finds its source in the ocean that claims all and takes us into its eternal embrace. The sun above warms her and the air fills with the sound of birdsong and in the distance, perhaps a half days walk she hears the oceans swell and the taste of ozone upon her lips. The dust that once limned h body is washed away as a mist like rain tinted emerald envelops her form and cleanses her of the remaining detritus, so recently her identity. Renewed and attired in a flowing gown of the whitest lace she kneels and gazes into the stream and beholds again her recently acquired shape and form.

Almond eyes gaze back at her, golden stained violet at their hearts below which a nose aquiline and predatory crowns lips rich and full. High cheekbones display her noble heritage and the tumbling waterfall that crowns her flows ebon down shoulders delicate and strong. Rising she beholds her body cased in the finest lace which reveals in its subtlety the body beneath. Lithe yet muscular fro she is bred of the fey, warriors and mages and generations of her kind poured their life essence into her becoming over the millennia that have passed unheeded. Beneath a willow, roots drinking of the stream serves as her arbor and she sits, embraced by the

dryad within. The air sparkling and alive with the fluttering of butterfly and lacewing evokes a drowsiness which she embraces and she dreams. A dragonfly rests upon her upraised knee and joins her in her reverie.

And in the depths of her recall memory surfaces and she briefly returns to that which she has come to know as home. Had it been so long since she walked the marbled halls that led to forest beyond? How long had it been since she had dipped trembling fingers into the nectar that was the lifeblood of this ancient world? Had memory been so erased by the travail that ensued upon the arrival of the shadows. A once verdant world reduced to marsh and quagmire. So nearly lost, so far away and yet but a whisper and all is reclaimed and the shadows dissolve into the void, banished, never to return. Into her reverie steps a figure limned in lightning and with a voice of softest silk whispers, “come for I await thee” And with this recall she rises into wakefulness, rubs the dust of sleep from her eyes and greets the dragonfly that upon hearing her voice takes to the air on gossamer wings and returns to his task of patrolling the stream in quest of his own needs.

Rising, having rested well she continues to follow the undulations of the stream that acts as guide upon this her maiden voyage in this new form. Time passes and with it rolling hill resolves itself into the foothills of a mountain range, peaks capped in clouds of cerise and gold. Flanks dressed in a robe of wildflowers amongst which bees eagerly gather the nectar that rises like a mist into the air. To her left she marks the presence of a cave, its entrance dividing the waterfall that flows down the flanks of the mountain above. She enters the mist of rainbow that informs the air and enters the cave. A narrow passageway cut into the bedrock leads to a gallery of cathedral like proportions. Pools of liquid crystal adorn the surface of that upon which she now walks. Outcroppings of sulphur iridescent cling to walls, veins of gold weave their way across distant walls and from the far distant roof of this vast edifice hang crystals of quartz and amethyst. Light entering the cave becomes a symphony of sound and colour and before her a raised surface informs her ever sharpening senses and towards this she walks.

The steps she climbs, etched by natures hand led to a chamber wherein upon a lectern of brass adorned with ebony carvings rests The Book Of Life, whose pages she was sent to read. The book open upon a page of purest vellum is etched in cipher and image she knows to be the Axiomata. Long had been her preparation and the study of the ancient ways had initiated her into the apprehension of the alphabet of desire. The ink that formed the cyphers was drawn from the hearts of all that had entered this sacred place and the images were drawn from the tapestry that served as a portrayal of their lives and its memories. With reverence her fingertips

brush the surface of the page and what was once ink scribed upon a surface of vellum now rises as light and before her eyes the dance of the Axiomata unfolds. An embryo bathed in amniotic oceans embrace with a cry becomes a babe held in loving arms, tiny hands reach out and grasp flesh and she begins to learn. An infant stumbling upon legs yet to bear her traverses a room huge to her developing senses and clasps the edge of a chair before her and steadies her shaking body. A girl upon a swing, the wind in her hair rejoices in the sense of flight and freedom. A young woman feels a glow as her lips are parted and she shares her first kiss and dissolves into the purity of its embrace. This and more she reads in the cyphers alight upon the air.

Deeper the Axiomata travel as beneath a sea of stars the first of beings, the Grigori raise their voice in celebration of life. Millennia of evolution unfolded and the watchers, witnesses to life’s mystery entered the matrix of form and lay dreaming within their masks of wonder.

Protohuman looks upwards and wonders at the mystery that surrounds them. Language evolve and the dawn of consciousness begins to its reveal its fable. Nature, man and beast, leaf and stem, stone and water, fire and aethyr dance in the unity and the Grigori deep with in their dreams stir.

Empires rise, only to fall into the dust from whence they come and cycle upon cycle unfolds. Belief, the home of the feeble claims life in its unrelenting grasp and squeezes the lifeblood of its servitors and offers this as sacrifice to its infernal god. The Grigori rise from their slumbers, called forth by the mother, she who has nurtured them throughout eternity and into their outstretched hands she places the seal of dominion.

Reading from the Book Of Life Damiana continues her quest and as the Axiomata continue to dance upon the air the cavern in which she stands trembles and the windstorm without begins to rage and were you of a foolhardy disposition and entered this sacred place, which resides outside the circles of time and life your eyes would be greeted by the sight of the fairest of maidens enraptured as she gazes into the aethyrs that now form her essence and form. Eternal she stands, witness to all that unfolds and her tale is cyphered in the stars, who whispering across the void witness the despair that has become life’s reward.

!

Shed not a tear for those who have passed

Cast not a sigh upon air now spent

Bind not the free to your temple of woe

Gut rather rejoice in the freedom gainsaid by life

In the immortal lands of deliverance therein i dwell

Rosa Mundi

The pressure of leafmould above where she lay was

reassuring and in its own way provided her with a semblance of comfort. Not so long ago leaf life had basked beneath a warm sun, stretching its veins as it feasted on the light that was its sustenance. Now it but served as a blanket for Damiana and as it whispered to her of its life within the embrace of air and light she could but sigh.

The robe of our most holy lady whispered in the breeze as it caught tendrils of memory from all that passed within its canopy. Here the fox spoke of his feast and the snail of its long journey across a grassy plain. The hare spoke of the mysteries

he encountered upon his quest for grace while the dove dreamed of the comfort of its nestled bower.

The lady woke from her seasonal slumber and stepped forth. Naked she stood beside the pool that served as a mirror to the moment and from beneath the surface of the lustral water her consort rose and taking her into his arms again her raiment was donned for yet another cycle of the unending dance that passes as life upon the bright globe. For a time she would stretch her limbs upwards and outwards, embracing all that comes to pass and this her joy, her service as ever more the pageant is realised. Gone, for now, her slumber as she dances upon the breeze. Gone the memory of past times as she rejoices in the greening that forms her veil and as her seasons unfold green resolves itself to copper and gold before falling like a robe, cast upon the forest floor far below.

But for now Damiana dreams of leaf and shoot as she lies within her palace of solitude and yet for a brief moment her hand is clasped by the fair one who guides her into the secrets of her domain. Life and death she witnesses upon opposing shores and smiles knowingly as rose petals tumble from the air and fall at her feet forming a carpet upon which she takes her ever strengthening steps. Hand in hand they walk life’s byways and the ancients in their citadels of knowing remain oblivious to their passing as they, husks of despair seek redemption.

# # #

The first of many springs was spent in the birthing chamber

where destiny etched its intent into the fibre of my becoming. Upon completion did I raise my body from its immortal state and enter the realm of the unborn. Upwards I surged, spear like, breaking the membrane of the earth that had served as my shroud. I greeted day and in return day blessed me with air and light.

Spring and summer served as my periods of growth whilst autumn was the stage upon which I reflected the pageant that lay at the core of my being and during winter did I take my rest. Cycle upon cycle unfolded and memory drew many lines upon the

surface of my body. The time of the great heat when all about me succumbed to death and even I was stripped. Again did I have to begin the cycles of my growing. The time of ice all but cast me into oblivion, yet I retained a shadow that served as my membrane for becoming. The trials passed and now I draw the rings that define my time upon this sphere.

Many have taken shelter within my canopy. Fed upon the fruit that adorns me and before the time of man did I have no mortal enemy. Fire and steel have claimed many of my kind and as we enter oblivion one more seed is sewn that serves as your fate. Deep within the earth our tendrils spread and touch each other and communion unfolds and it is here that the memories of the birthing chamber and our destiny is shared and reflected upon the veil that serves as nature. We but stand and bear witness to the unfolding ages. Many have we seen rise, claim dominion only to fall, like ash into the vault of oblivion from whence they came. Custodians of the earth, our destiny inscribed within the sap of our natures, rises from roots only to return in ever eternal cycles.

Brave Damiana we hold in our embrace as her dreams unfold and are reflected upon the mirror that serves as comprehension amongst your kind. It is to her that we whisper the final words. Go in peace and rest within the embrace of shadows tender arms.

# # #

The Artifacts

Iron torn from the earth, fused with fire become the chains that

bind the body that serves as my form within the vale of fire. Flakes of rust, shed, as skin, fall like rain and become the blood that flows along sentient rivers of life as breath is stilled and silence descends. Blood, an incarnadine mist rises and is caught upon the breeze, to fall as rain upon foreign and exotic shores.

Silence once pure is stained by echoes unceasing that issue from the font of life and cascade along corridors of memory, entering an ocean that subdues them, drawing the iron into a thread of gossamer silk encased in blood and rust.

Once daylight beckoned. Once starlight called and once upon a hill of flint the summons was issued. Now chains forged in the night of time become the flesh that travels eternity in quest of its completion. Now dreams rise, a constant memory that etches with vitriol the cyphers of the alphabet of desire and now a form deep within the body of the earth is summoned and reflects itself upon the mirror of the mind.

Chains once unyielding become as dust, flakes of iron fall upon the air and carried by invisible currents enter the lungs of all that exists upon the plane of form. Blood flows again along veins and as the memories rise Damiana dreams of iron and the fields of mars wherein her once desiccated form encased in armour of burnished copper raises a sword of fire into the heavens and summons the archons. Her visor, raised, a cloak of invisibility confounds all who behold her not.

Beneath her blanket of leaves and earth Damiana dreams of a lake of fire and rises upon the current of smoke that stains the air with ash and as the flames become but embers her form coalesces into shadows limned with light of burnished gold and her armour is complete. She descends and as her feet touch the stability of the ever constant earth she takes one faltering step, then another and yet another along the path of her becoming. Greet her not for she remains but a shadow cast upon the mirror of time, Welcome her not for she carries the seed of the time to come upon this the shimmering globe. Embrace her not as she walks unheeded amongst the legions that are but ghosts, specters dancing within halls of dream and dust.

# # #

The waves, ink black mercury undulated from horizon to

horizon beneath the irresistible pull of the swollen red moon above. The breeze, a mere whisper carried the tang of ozone and salt within its all but silent depths. A numbing chill assailed our observers as they mutely sat upon the shoreline of this tableaux and they could but gaze in awe. The waves, now stilled, held the reflection of the fair face of Artemis and as her light descended, wave upon wave of silven arrows stained carmine, from the depths of the ocean two columns rise and pierce the surface. Twin pylons drawn from the bedrock of the earth ascend and reach heavenward. Across their surfaces opal and moonstone ascend and descend as crystalline veins transforming their

apparent solidity into a dance of light. At their crowns a crescent forms and the gateway is complete and within the horns of the crescent Artemis sits enthroned upon this the night of vision.

Our observers, gazes fixed, receive the rays of light that issue from the vision they behold and deep within their hears rises the certainty that they have been blessed this night. Artemis extends her hands in greeting and upon the upraised palms two figures dance the spells of making. He a jester in motley of gold adorned with black diamonds. She a maiden fair shrouded in lace of purest white. Their dance and the embrace it denotes unfolds through eternity as the moment stills and is fixed by the cyphers they conjure and manifest by their movement upon the aethyrs.

Damiana dreams and a smile lightens her eyes and her lips part in a smile that stirs her heart and remembrance unfolds its elixir within her veins. Though Death claimed her long ago Life informs her memory and she is at peace.

A dream of silver reflects itself into the night of time and the archons and vesicas, voices raised as one in rapture sing their song of beauty and once ago the sentient wave also knows peace.

# # #

Grace

But one drop remained within the crucible once the

distillation and purification had been completed and this was cast into the ocean, where amongst infinite drops of water it melded and became as one with all that embraced it. Damiana’s body dissolved in the embrace and became as liquid which flowed to a depth that pierced the core of the earth and rose to a height that brushed the stars as they whispered long into the night.

By Grace alone was this achieved and by Grace does it continue to unfold as The End Of Days manifests its rays within the wave we know as sentience. Rising once from the well of souls to claim dominion and now descending into the very maelstrom that

gave it birth upon the shimmering star. This Damiana mused upon as she lay within the vault of ocean’s depths, her only company the whales that sang her songs to ease her passing through time.

Above, a sea of stars. Below, a sea of form, shaping and reshaping itself into infinite possibilities as the magnetic pulse that beat at its core continued to scribe itself upon the parchment of Life. Death, ever present remained silent as the tapestry wove itself into the fabric of being and simply watched and waited. Between the shores of Life and Death the ocean roiled, casting diversity into the matrix, selecting, consolidating and ultimately consigning all to its womb of making.

Cyphers wrought in glyph and sigil. Fleshed by bloodbeat and heart’s pulse, echoes the timelessness of other. Other cast adrift upon ink black night, yields to starlight and the breath it takes until yet again by hand and eye is once more cast upon the eternal aethyrs.

Drink deep from the stream, lest your form evaporates into the void from whence you came.

Breathe deeply of the intoxication that holds you bound by blood and bone.

Think deeply upon the thoughts that carry you from ecstasy to ecstasy through the tapestry of appearance.

# # #

Upon a distant shoreline, beneath a moon at her zenith she

danced. Her body adorned in lace, purest white. Flowers woven into her silven locks, sigils etched into her flesh burned with a copper hue and the mist that rose from her skin, rose pink. Her dance a spiral that blessed the earth beneath her feet and her outstretched fingers played upon the strings that the stars wove with their whispers.

Vision born of wave and aethyr shone within the depths of her violet eyes, eyes flecked gold, entranced by the rapture of the moment spoke of the joy that informed her heart and as its drumbeat rolled the breeze rose as if it to would celebrate the

moment. The ladye fayre dances eternally and of her spirals dreams are made. Of her breath the winds do rise. Of her heartbeats the mountains rise from their slumbers deep within the earth and of her body the bounty of nature celebrates the harvest which is her gift to all.

Damiana melts into the vision and momentarily joins the dance and again she knows peace.

Fairest Artemis reaches out and onto her outstretched palms the maiden steps and continues her dance within the embrace of the queen of heaven and the nectar begins to flows, a golden mist upon which hummingbirds, hovering upon the air dip their tongues and drink of the elixir conjured by the dance.

An Ocean Of Bliss. Amidst the travail that eternally attends us were we, by Grace alone permitted to partake of the nectar that drips from the lips of our Holy Lady Babalon and into her coils were we given to dissolve in the bliss that strips us of form and being, to become but one scale upon her body as she soars upon aethyrs burnished gold.

Upon the beach the dance quickens and as her feet, caressed by the lapping waves, she dissolves into the vision and enters the depths of the ocean from whence she came and remains evermore.

# # #

Standing before the mirror he looks upon a visage

unrecognizable but for the violet eyes, flecked gold that is all that remains of his once noble form. The decay of the angel bears witness to the time that passes and he its witness bears all within the vault of his ever beating heart. As he gazes his vision bifurcates and in one instance he beholds one garbed in motley of silk adorned with diamond motifs. He dances upon the upraised palms of the lady Artemis and before him sharing this intimacy a ladye fayre dressed in purest lace of snow driven hue. Yet he stands alone before the mirror that begins to cloud over as numerous memories vie for recognition. Damiana within her grave beckons and he smiles. The archons and vesicas call to him

and by their grace does he yet remain whole. Across the mountains of the moon did he walk with his love and entering the vale of Aphrodite did he lay within her embrace. A brief respite as the boundary lands beckoned and he alone crossed the desert and entered the fabled city beneath the rays of Solus Noir. Returning, transformed, he looks upon the pageant of the world and knows despair.

Leaving the reflection that is all that remains of the angel he lays beneath the rays of a swollen moon and returns ever more into the embrace of Artemis where he knows a semblance of peace. The venom that informs his veins, now elixir, drips from fingertips, staining all it touches with the vision of solitude, his estate within the vale of tears until blessed release is granted.

Before the mirror the forms resolve themselves into a singular form and into its eyes he gazes and all memory is erased as he enters the embrace that is Death’s seductive kiss. Stillness pervades the scene and the bifurcated vision resolves itself into a singular certainty.

Shed not a tear for those that have passed

Cast not a sigh upon air now spent

Bind not the free to your temple of woe

Bur rather rejoice the freedom gainsaid by life

In the immortal lands of deliverance therein i dwell

# # #

Damiana Dreams

Amidst shadows and smoke does he rise

Splinters of light adorn his torn visage Thorns rend flesh, rivers of blood embrace limbs, barely formed.

Shadows coalesce and in the frozen moments does he remember Limbs once broken begin to heal as the elixir flows drop by iridescent drop Nectar sweet, laced with bitter gall enters eyes, yet dim of sight Enters nostrils, a benediction.

Shadowed forms limned in lightning attend the moment A chorus of cries and whispers Echoes into eternity, the moment.

Once upon a hill of flint he stood Raising hands and calling forth his Elohim as his form dissolved The Seals opened and the dance unfolds.

Once into a pool of quicksilver did he gaze Fingers drawing forth tendrils of form cast upon the air, they rise Summoning the rays of Solus Noir, they descend.

Once beneath the ocean did he reach out and clasp his sisters hand In embrace they dance upon aethyrs burnished gold A dark stain rises and consumes all within its path.

Once upon a lightning bolt did he descend and entered fairest Lilith’s domain A stranger, cast upon shores, foreign and exotic.

Once within the heart of a star he slumbered Bound by chains of liquid light Called forth by life, his nemesis.

Once as Azrael he seeded himself into the unfolding pageant

And once he Became.

Amidst shadows and smoke does he rise Splinters of light adorn his torn visage Thorns rend flesh, rivers of blood embrace limbs, barely formed.

# # #

Namrael 777

amael 131

Anathema Per Samael Vox Lilith

Praeteritim

Seven are the seals upon creations countenance Seven the trumpets that announce the day of redemption

Seven are the visions of the dragon and its kingdoms Seven the visions that accompany the lamb

Seven are the bowls of gods wrath Seven the veils upon the lady Babalon

And Seven are the visions of the end of days

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! Yglas Lilitu Ben Grigori ! Ast Innui Khephri Vos !

! Ahdi Ypres Grigori ! Selim Ast Nobilis !

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Canto I

And upon wings of light did we descend Lightning in our eyes Thunder in our hearts

Seven as one clothed in adamantine

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Canto II

Watchers in the night ancient timeless immortal Each a chord within a celestial heartbeat

Behold our song our prayer Written in the echo of the moment

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Canto III

And the dragon she rises and her kingdoms claim the world Her tears fall and she washes away the stain

Her breath a scorching wind razes the edifice of conceit Her heartbeat a thunderbolt the end of days

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Canto IV

Bathed in his own blood was he We carry the sword and our blood is sacred

No sacrifice as it be justice we serve Invisible we walk sons and daughters of eternal night

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Canto V

Each a toxin Each an elixir Choose well the bowl from which you quench your thirst

Nectar sweet cousin to the worm Bitter gall a draught of ambrosia

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Canto VI

Malekh holy one casts her veils and you behold her not One glance and sleep is entered

One whisper and Azrael is summoned One cry and our sister rejoices

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Canto VII

And in those days it was given unto the false prophets To spread the lie

Sow the seeds of doubt draw aside the veil And reveal the end of days

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Exodus

Canto VIII

Coagula et Solve We strip the world our Eden of its lie

Beneath our rays you are transformed redeemed or not Choose well for we dwell between you heartbeats

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Canto IX

Omega et Alpha Time bends before our gaze

As somnambulant you step from one dream to another The unmaking unfolds as our Elohim

Circle your world your life

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Canto X

Space folds before our eyes and the great ones enter Their breath creases the moment in passing

Warps memory erases life And casts a shadow of dust and vacuum

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Genesis

Canto XI

Sweet sister are you redeemed Your Grigori await command as you will Your Elohim abroad command as you will

Your portal open command as you will

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Canto XII

Cleansed of the lie your breath draws pure Cleansed of the stain your heart beats rapturous

Purified your mind awakens from nightmare Consecrated your body bears fruit

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Canto XIII

And in the Night of Pan it is dawn The Black Sun rises and its rays cast no shadow

The Blood Moon rises and casts her veil The Grigori rise and utter a word in silence

! Yglas Isheth ! Yglas Ygrat ! Yglas Na’amah !

! Yglas Lilitu Ben Grigori ! Ast Innui Khephri Vos !

! Ahdi Ypres Grigori ! Selim Ast Nobilis !

Nemesis MMXI

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Ely A Grigori Tale

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And in those days it was given unto the false prophets

To spread the lie

Sow the seed of doubt Draw aside the veil

And reveal the end of days

Solus Noir – The Book Of The Black Sun

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And who would walk this way with me Creature of shadow and dark repose

Who yet yearns to feel the warmth of a human heart The caress that calls the blood to flow the breath to quicken

Breath dissolving the flesh in rapture An angel passing between us

Skin soft warm bathed in nectar as onward we spiral For I have dreamed and in that dream a voice

Reaches out towards me in welcome Casting new shapes and patterns before my eyes

Shapes yet hard of surface begin to yield Soften flow in liquid curves

Undulating as surface meets surface Moistens, liquefies and flows to a greater depth

Shadows pass leaving a silven moon Upon a hilltop amidst a forest glade

The purple legion of night around and between us The dark silhouette of arboreal forms

A stream wending its way across rocky terrain in quest Of its continuance its source its end

For in truth we stand alone and yet a time A one whose heart beats to a similar tune

A thought echoed across the aethyrs The call of nature’s horn

That her creatures know of rapture and repose To what surface does this call

And from what depth comes forth the answer To you who walks in beauty these words

These echoes are sent Shapes born of ink and wrought in thought Each one bearing within itself a heart beat

A dream a vision Long may we walk in shadows perchance

That daylight beckons And with this passing thought I bid thee adieu

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A Tale Unfolds

Shadows coalesced and retreated into the corners when he entered the beach hut. Long abandoned the walls coated in mildew, the floor in dust. Shards of some long ago broken chair were all that adorned the room along with a begrimed and cracked mirror on the far wall. Surveying his surroundings with what little remained of his strength Ely feels secure enough and finally with consciousness fleeting he collapses and joins the dust, now disturbed on the floor.

Let us pause for a moment and pass a cursory glance upon this our hero, now recumbent, a pile, debris of humanity returned to dust from whence he came. At first glance, a begrimed figure, emaciated to the point of being but a sack of bones. What little flesh we might see bruised and broken and yet a certain dignity informs our Ely. Aquiline features belie the wretch we might perceive, a mane of ink black hair, unkempt and yet a dimly perceived sheen speaks of better days and a finer clime. Clothed in nothing but a rag which serves as a loin cloth. Shackles and short lengths of chain around wrists and ankles speak of captivity and the emaciated condition of this one time prince amongst men. And were we to catch a glimpse of his eyes, a story they would tell, a golden sheen bruised violet at their heart. The true sign of a mage. A breed now but extinct in these enlightened times. This alone would serve us well in respect of our curiosity but there is another feature that would grip our eyes and turn our blood to ice were we gifted with imagination and the sight that sees. From the crown of his head to the very soles of his battered and bruised feet our Ely is glyphed in ciphers and images that the vulgar would call tattoos. Yet no ordinary tools and ink scribed these ancient tongues and symbols.

For the moment let us leave our collapsed and slumbering hero and travel through time to a far distant shore. A marble monument, a palace built upon a cliff top overlooking the majesty of an ocean roiling in the grip of a violent storm. Clouds swift, cross a blood red moon and amidst howls of thunder, the screams of a woman in labour pierce the night.

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A bed chamber lit by candles, the air heavy with the scent of camphor, a woman lies upon a bed, pressure within her belly, sweat upon her body, she pushes downwards. Her breath escaping in gasps, she opens and is delivered of child, the rapture of release. Holding life within her hands, placing the child upon her

swollen breast, releases liquid into the expectant mouth and knows the pleasure of union. And in this way our Ely came to this life, cherished and nurtured by parents awash with the glow of love. Surrounded in tenderness did he thrive for seven long and rapturous summers. And what of these our loving parents? Atop their cliff top they lived in solitude and study. Morgan, a cypher of beauty, lithe in form with hair the nimbus that would adorn the sun of any world stood in majesty. Adorned in white

lace with but one ruby star that hung from a chain of gold between her breasts. Again the golden eyes, a family sign also shared by Ybrim, slight of figure but possessed of a presence that would fill any hall. Muscular and yet something of the feline pervaded his form. Long raven locks adorned a face more akin to a hawk than to a man and yes the golden eyes. Long ago had our loving parents fled the shores of slavery where the new god ruled and demanded sacrifice as penance and superstition judged all to be suspect were they not of the true faith. So yes flee they did and now upon their cliff top they share their solitary existence with the wind, the stars and the moon. The beasts that would visit and the birds upon the air and here they continued their pursuits undisturbed by the travails of man. For six long summers did Ely thrive within the bosom of his family and knew only love. His days blessed by the delights offered by his cliff top fastness, his nights adorned by the majesty of moon and stars. And then on the eve of his seventh summer did Morgan, ever attentive, draw him aside and spoke of the mystery about to be unveiled. They walked the corridors of the palace and entered a portal concealed behind a hanging depicting the lady Artemis abroad upon the hunt, her hunting dogs in quest of their prey, a young maiden in the first flush of youth, delighting in the chase as Artemis unfurls her bow and sends forth a silven shaft into the night. Ascending steep steps cut into the marble Morgan and Ely sought their destination, a little used garret atop the crest of one of the many towers that adorned the palace. Upon entering candles gutter into flame and the room is bathed in lambent light. Perfume of rose and sandalwood weave themselves upon the air and in the distance a low resonant vibration fills the air. The room of bare stone adorned here and there with images and cyphers in no language known to Ely shone on the walls as if possessed with a life of their own. Low coaches sheaved in silk and velvet stood against the walls. The floor covered in the finest silver sand and rose petals barely conceal a blood red triangle at whose angles stood candles atop stands of carven wood depicting fabulous beasts of legend. In the centre of the triangle a single censer releases upon the air the perfumes that now intoxicate the senses of Ely and his gracious mother. My dearest Ely, my heart and very soul, this night you come of age and it is our custom to share our nature and knowledge with our kin when they come of age,

Morgan whispered in a voice tender and possessed of power, as if the very words caused the air itself to vibrate. It is my duty as your mother to bring you to this moment and deliver you into the heart of the mystery we are and the knowledge that informs this. Ely sits attentive at his mothers feet, stills his mind, as taught and listens in rapt expectation. Sitting upon one of the

coaches Morgan begins her tale, a tale of exploration, wonder and beauty. Long ago my dearest Ely our kind left our home in ships of light woven by the very fabric of our hearts and minds and travelled the realms between the diamond orbs of the stars. In this way our knowledge and power developed and we left the world of form. Thirteen embarked upon this journey through time and space and over the millennia our numbers diminished as our brothers and sisters sought repose in eternity and shed their form. Only two now remain, Ybrim, your loving father and I, Morgan, lady of the night sky. Now it is our time and we prepare to depart this veil of tears for history has revealed our destiny to us and our final act, an act of love is to bring into this life our cherished Ely. We will remain until the day your manhood is confirmed upon attaining your eighteenth summer. But mother, pleads Ely, hush sweetheart for my tale is yet only begun. Ely again stills his mind and Morgan speaks further. Our forms are maintained by the cyphers we bare upon our flesh. Images and spells woven into the fabric of our souls by the Elven, creatures of light and shadow who dwell between the thoughts and moments that pass between sentient beings. I will call them this night and you will enter our covenant. Standing Morgan lets slip her robe and stands in the beauty of her nakedness, the body of a maiden and yet she carries the centuries within her flesh. She sings, tones that again cause the air to vibrate and as her song unfolds the walls of the chamber all but dissolve until finally with the utterance of a piercing scream she stands before Ely sheaved in the glyphs and images that the vulgar call tattoos. These sigils my dearest one I received upon my seventh summer and now it is your fate to join us. The air stills and Morgan opens a singularity, a portal formed of her own flesh and upon the air dancing in rapture seven Elven crease the night with their presence.

Be at ease my Ely for the ones you see before you are our kin, given form by the love in our hearts and with that love they will prepare you for their bodies are the instruments that will script your flesh and their essence the ink that will carve into your soul the alphabet of our kind. Ely feels a gentle breeze ruffle his hair as one by one the Elven pass through his flesh, travel to the very core of his being and evaporate into his form. A warmth pervades Ely as one by one the Elven begin the dance that unfolds the making and they begin to sing and join the chorus that is now the voice of Morgan.

What seems an eternity passes and rising as if from a swoon Ely sits in rapture as he examines the lines of his flesh. Upon his chest twin serpents, indigo and gold writhe with sinuous vitality. These, my son will grant you wisdom, swiftness and the ability to create a nectar sweet and a venom bitter as your protection. Upon each thigh etched in amber light a golden hare and a dragonfly sit gazing at each other. The golden hare will grant you the ability to travel between the realms whilst the dragonfly will gift you with invisibility. One more tattoo remains, a red

inverted triangle adorns his abdomen at its centre a golden mote, the heart of a star and etched around it cyphers in a tongue unknown to Ely. Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast intones Morgan. The Elven upon hearing this coalesce into a single being, a whisper of farewell creases the air and they depart and return to whence they came. The final tattoo is the source of our power and in time you will learn of its use for the future is but dimly perceived by us at this time. Ely rises from the floor brushing the sand and rose petals from himself, wraps himself in a cowl of midnight stars and taking Morgan’s hand understands. This rite, whispers Morgan, will take place each eve of your birthtime until your thirteenth summer and then your preparations will be complete and the quickening will begin. Hand in hand Ely and Morgan leave the chamber descend the steps and passing through the wall hanging depicting our lady Artemis and leaving the palace, enter the night and on the cliff tops beneath a sky sewn with diamonds join Ybrim who sits beside a fire and upon a cloth of silver a feast is prepared in celebration of the event and the moment.

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On sensing their approach Ybrim rises to his feet after his long vigil and welcomed Morgan into his embrace. Feeling her softness and warmth pressed against him never failed to remind him that his Lady, his Morgan was his very heart and soul. Into this embrace Ely entered and felt the love that pervaded the night air. Greetings my beloved ones Ybrim whispers and returns to the soft embrace of the grass beneath him. Morgan and Ely join him and share in the feast prepared for the occasion. Let us offer a libation to the earth, moon and stars and once performed Ybrim speaks in soft whispers as he addresses Ely. My beloved son this night your fairest mother has brought you to the portal of our world and you have undertaken the first of many rites that will prepare you for your quest. Yes, my son you were born to a purpose and yet that is but a dim reflection in the eyes of us your loving parents and yet we will prepare you. For my part I have gifts to bestow upon you. The first I gift you this night, an ivory horn, with this you command all natures creatures in respect of both beast and elemental. Its use will become known to you in time. Meanwhile keep it safe and it will serve you well. Holding the horn in his hands Ely feels its lightness and warmth. Notices the runes carved into it and the beautiful perfume it seems to release upon the air. Hold the image of a creature within your mind, Ybrim whispered and blow upon it. Ely pauses and then, ah yes, I know, I shall call my friend to me and with this thought clear in his mind Ely blows once upon the horn and waits. The night air still, the silence deepens in anticipation and there before the three gathered beneath the stars a beautiful white horse, her mane slick with sweat and her flanks flushed after her exertions stands the beautiful Imri. The three rise and climbing upon the back of Imri who welcomes their presence with a soft neigh, off she gallops into the night air, wind whipping her mane into a nimbus of pulsing light as she gathers speed. In this way and upon the eve of his seventh summer did Ely receive the first of the sigils and the first magickal gift.

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Six more summers pass and upon the eve of each Morgan takes Ely to the chamber atop the tower where amongst the perfumes and candlelight the Elven impart to him the sigils and glyphs that prepare him for his quest. During the second visit the family seals were placed upon his back and shoulders. Upon his third visit Ely received the seal of the Elohim and those falsely called the fallen ones, the Grigori. A single lightning bolt and a blood red rose. On his fourth visit his legs and feet are etched with leaves and feathers, encapsulating the elements of earth and air.

On his fifth visit oceanic waves are etched upon his back and flames upon his abdomen depicting the elements of water and fire. On his sixth all that remains of his visible flesh is cyphered in a language long known but forgotten aeons ago. And on his seventh visit a web is superimposed upon the entire design and at its heart she sits feeling the vibrations along her silken web causing the entire design to connect and interact as if a conduit of power was opened and Ely’s body is turned into liquid light.

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And of the gifts imparted by Ybrim. A silver mask to aid invisibility. A wand to grant all that is wished for. A chalice ever flowing with food and drink. A cloak woven of angel dust to grant flight. A sword forged by the Elven to cut any object and discern the truth of a thing. A single red rose ever blooming and issuing a perfume eternal in its fragrance granting its bearer, attraction and seduction. Seven summers pass, the preparations completed and Ely attains his thirteenth summer. On the eve of this night upon the cliff tops accompanied by Morgan and Ybrim a final invocation takes place beneath a moon now full and sending forth a light that pierces their eyes causing two mighty towers to rise from the ocean crowned by a crescent which holds the lambent moon in its embrace. Shafts of light opal and gold dance along the columns and infuse the crescent with a light dark as midnight. The portal opens and what was once a cliff top view of the ocean becomes a golden desert beneath the burning rays of a black sun. In the distance the city of pyramids stands beckoning. In this direction they advance and upon entering a golden pyramid, they lie upon three beds of velvet and dream.

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The remainder of this short tale is the product of their dream. The events that unfold through the appearance of time. Characters that make their entry and equally swift departure. Yes dear reader we enter the dreaming moment and cast aside the chains of meaning and speak to that silent reservoir that lies at the heart of all sentient beings, wonder and mystery. And now our Ely presents a further mystery, is he to be considered to be unconscious upon the floor of a beach hut, dust upon dust or does he lie with his loving parents within the city of pyramids bathed by the rays of a black sun?

Ah but we race ahead, for now our hero has attained his thirteenth summer and at this point in our tale the dream begins to unfold. To begin at the beginning. She visited often. At the beginning there was the merest presence of her perfume, intoxicating. A toxin that invaded Ely’s mind and body with sweet delight. Promises of fulfillment. Promises of destiny she sewed into the web of his being. Latterly she visited him in form wrapping her long sensuous limbs around his reposing form. “And what would you have my dreaming one?” She would whisper and upon awakening the world, his world appeared hollow. And yet he persisted, ignoring her call, denying her presence until the torture of unhappiness engulfed him in its eternal embrace. This he believed to be the result of her lingering perfume and ever present whisper, “come, for I await thee.” And now our once bright Ely knew the toxin of desire and within the cauldron of his heart gave voice to the pleasure and pain he felt in her presence.

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Time & Again

Once a whisper caught upon a breeze a murmur heard within the dark a glimpse etched in thorns a cry cast upon ears deafened a plea unheeded

Now a whisper unheard a murmur eternal a glimpse cast upon a skin of amber a cry of a heart emptied a plea an ocean of dreams

Shadows, dreams, but echoes, pass along corridors unending Thoughts, architects of sorrow lay their stones And upon foundations crumbling this tower is raised Washed within amniotic oceans embrace Caressed by starlight Nurtured by Moons light Cursed by the day star

Time again and yet again

Once

Within a golden city he caught a glimpse of her Eyes bruised in the beholding Upon a hill beneath the moon he held her, trembling Heart entranced by ardour and pain Beneath the ocean he reached for her Grasped her hand and was lost to the waves Upon a starbeam they danced Within the embrace of fairest Artemis She a ladye fair cloaked in lace of white He a jester gold and black Their dance unfolds eternal

Now

Shadows resolve into emptiness Whispers to silence Vision to the void The heart a burning ground The mind but a dim reflection The body kindling for the fire

Time again and yet again The promise of a love The promise of a life Ashes cast upon waters turned to venom And yet this heart knows beauty, this mind knows truth And within that noble temple does reside And now the call is sent forth upon aethyrs devoid of life, Entranced by ardour grown sour, a fruit plucked corrupt

Once

Hopes golden sands beneath a violet moon A starlit city of dreaming domes An ocean of promise An eternity of dream

Now

Carbon ash burnt beneath a blood red moon Miasmas of corruption sow seeds of despair A barren wasteland A fixed moment

Time again and yet again

The dreaming moment evolves, unfolds And in its turning the stars do spin The lambent light rejoices The enslaved are freed The joyless know ecstasy The innocent are absolved

Once

A dream beheld A call sent forth An answer issued A mystery unfolding

Now

A dream made flesh A call yet echoes upon the aethyrs An answer yet unfolding A mystery inviolate

The son of the starbeam dreams and knows freedom

Time again and yet again

Morgan sensing the change in Ely pressed him upon the matter and despite her sensitive probings Ely proved to be reluctant to discuss the matter. Resigned to silence she withdrew her questions only leaving Ely with the words, discuss what you will, when you will, I will always be there for you. Thank you, replied Ely, your grace and sensitivity are much appreciated and when there is something to discuss be assured it is to you I will turn. Having completed the preparations the next five years unfolded in accordance with the ways of this

most unique of families. Morgan continued to instruct Ely in the ways of star lore and the simples that when administered served as powerful medicines. She taught him the auguries of weather and how to read the signs in omens arising from nature. Taught him the rituals that celebrated the turning of the seasons and the cycle of the moon. Ely felt that there was so very much to learn but in the caring hands of Morgan all unfolded elegantly and appropriately. For his part Ybrim instructed Ely in the arts of Mars, the forging of the heart and mind into the focus of the breath and the body and after three years Ely found himself proficient in the art at which juncture Ybrim introduced him to the use of the sword, though practice always took place with a wooden replica it was always the sword that he had been gifted that occupied Ely’s thoughts if not his hands.

During this time Ely also took a liking to the composing of verse and the crafting of images and though the content of his creations often eluded him as to its meaning Morgan was always on hand to discuss his musings and creations. One such poem troubled Ely immensely for he had no experience of what was implied nor the depth of feeling it evoked in him and the references were obscure at best. This poem he took to Morgan one morning as she sat in one of the many arbours that graced her favoured rose garden. The air heavy with the perfume of roses and alive with bird song Ely approached and sat beside her. Mother, I have a poem I would share with you and perhaps you could shed some light upon it for it speaks of things I do not understand. Morgan put aside the drawing materials she had been working with and the sketch she had all but completed and gave Ely her warmest smile and full attention. Unrolling a scroll of parchment wrapped in leather Ely began to read.

Blood Rain

Liquid tears leeched into golden sand Rises, a mist of softest pink

Borne upon breath Etched in flesh

A cascade of liquid longing

Witness to the ages thy brother calls His call echoes upon aethyrs

Bruised by love’s eternal caress

A teardrop of blood upon a waxen cheek A breath frozen in time

A heartbeat stilled, silent

Liquid words leeched into silence Rises a silent scream

Borne along avenues of fire Consume, transform into myriad worlds

Each a mirror carbon Witness to the moment thy sister calls

Her call, plainsong of the heart

Wounded by love’s travails A tear frozen in blood red silence A breath, caught upon the breeze

A heartbeat, a whisper rises to a scream silence Liquid silence leeched into the spiral of the day

Rises, a memory darkly Borne along moments eternal

Unfolds into the golden moment Return Return Return

Witness to truth we call unto thee A liquid call from oceans deep

Thy lovers, spent return

Blood rain falls Its heart a drumbeat Its breath a triumph

Within the citadel the watchers pray And upon plains of liquid gold

Beneath a sky indigo A bright star beckons

Blood rain rises A tide, flows into liquid oceans embrace

Dark towers rise beacons of night cast shadows deep And upon an escarpment of amber

The Grigori legions of the night await a vigil

Blood rain a tide of shadows Consumes the night and casts upon the shores of time

Still, silent forms each a cypher of promise And along corridors sulphurous does

The pageant unfold eternal

Sic transit gloria rosa mundi

Blood rain shrouds the light of a black sun Its rays a resonant thrum a heartbeat

Beneath its rays bathed in nectar a toxin sweet Watchers shrouded in darkness await the tide

Liquid fire consumes all to ash blown upon winds and vacuum

Blood Rain Blood Moon Black Sun Holy trinity in The Night of Pan

Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast witness to the ages rise Through the portal enter this The Vale of Tears

Thy Grigori hold the pylons and summon thee

Namrael a cipher of brightest day Samael of deepest night Their breath a toxin their gaze a benediction Their hearts conjoined their minds a liquid

Dance upon aethyrs bright

Blood rain falls and quenches thirst slakes appetites jaded

Blood Moon rises silence Black Sun rises conjoined silence

The dragon stirs from her slumbers scales vibrate Takes flight and enters the opalescent night

Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast rises The dance unfolds and in her embrace the Grigori dance

She a ladye fair adorned in white lace He a jester in motley black and gold

And upon their cheeks a single tear of blood Falls into the night

Blood rain Liquid tears leeched into golden sand

Rises, a mist of softest pink Borne upon breath

Etched in flesh A cascade of liquid longing

Ave Samael Ave Lilith Ave Pan

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Ely takes a breath and places the scroll on the table beside the drawing instruments and awaits words from Morgan who in respectful silence is giving honour to the words of her son. Ely, she finally whispers, my beloved, how do you know of such things? Your words are rich with the language of love, of yearning and yet they speak of much that is beyond the mortal realm. Who is this muse that has snared you with her perfume, for only one of the graces themselves could have guided your heart and pen? She has visited me in dreams for many years, Ely replied and guides my thoughts and these my words. She has shown me such delights and graced my days with the richness of her world and my nights have been awash with longing for her. She calls herself

Namrael, a Grigori name and has gifted me with one also. Yes my Ely, this I know, Morgan, smiling replied. Your true name has been revealed to you and by the one you are destined to accompany through this the vale of tears. Your muse serves as humanities archangel and as such she exists somewhere in this world and destiny will unite you. Your poem speaks of prophecy and the unfolding of the end of days as foretold and your part within it and though there is much that is obscure to you all will be made clear with the passing of time, for now you but grow into the prophecy and this is why you have been prepared by us, in readiness for what is to come. This I understand but she speaks to me as a woman also and in this I am at a loss. What do I know of Love, except the love that I share with you my parents? The love I feel for Imri and this our beautiful home. Ah my dearest, you age beyond your years and already the world whispers to you. Her call is insatiable, a path perilous and yet the treasure that lies in the pursuit is equaled by nothing. When I first saw Ybrim, your father, I was lost to myself, never had I witnessed such beauty, such strength and I thirsted for him as one would thirst for water in the desert. He declared his love of me and yet others deemed our union to

be ill conceived as the fruit of our union would be a child of prophecy and in these matters we but see through a glass darkly. For many years we met in secret for nothing could keep us apart and stole what precious moments we could. So much time and yearning passed between us that one day upon the eve of resigning myself to a life without him, Ybrim appeared one day and simply asked me to leave with him then and there. Without a second thought I left my home with only what I stood in and we rode to the port and embarked upon a ship that took us to a foreign land where we lived for many years before the hostilities began. This story you know for we have explained the circumstances of our arrival here to you. The joy of our life unfolded crowned by the arrival of our most precious Ely. As your mother I council you simply, the heart is its own vessel, its own sails and wind and steers itself truly, follow it and you will know truth. All else is a sham, an existence devoid of love, mechanical and not for our noble kind. Know the joy and pain for it will raise you to the stars themselves and will cast you into the deepest hell. Rejoice in the life that this begets. Rejoice and sing with a heart pure and innocent. The angels themselves weave the breath of those made so and of their lives make a tapestry that keeps alive the vision of this world.

Ely thinks upon his mothers words takes her hand in his and places a kiss upon it. Thank you Morgan for your understanding and I will endevour to do as you suggest and now I will leave you to your drawing and seek out Ybrim who has promised to let me use the sword today, not the wooden practice sword but the one he gave me a time ago. Rising Ely leaves and Morgan casts him a smile and in her thoughts wonders, is my son equal to the task before him? I pray so. The rest of that day was spent in joyful exertion beneath a burning sun and for the first time it was not Ely that found himself flat on his back upon the grass. For the first time ever Ely had bested Ybrim and Ybrim rejoiced in this and felt pride in his son.

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Time passes, the seasons unfold their bounty, the moon travels her cycle across heavens dusted with diamonds and finally it is the celebration of Ely’s eighteenth summer. Midnight. The cliff tops bathed in the silven light of a waxing moon. A solitary owl greets our family as they wend their way to the copse of trees that serves as their temple beneath the stars. The air, rich in the perfume of the ocean and the musk that rises from the earth and in the distance the susurration of the ocean beating her waves, whipped into foam against the unrelenting rocks. Moths flitter around the torches they hold for

light. Cloaks wrapped tightly against the chill of the night. They arrive and Ybrim sets his torch to the firewood heaped in readiness for their arrival. As if by magick, which of course it is, the kindling catches and amidst the crackle and rising smoke flames reach heavenward in quest of the night air. Shedding their cloaks they form a triangle around the pyre and as Ybrim casts precious galbanum and storax into the flames Morgan begins to sing. A song of yearning as of a lover for their beloved. The words weave themselves into the fabric of the night air and rise into a crescendo as Morgan opens her body to the night, head thrown back in ecstasy, throat taut in invokation she utters a single word and the night stills, expectant. Thunder rolls, the sky is rent by a single

lightning bolt and their before the eyes of Morgan, Ybrim and Ely dance the Elven. Seven in number, yet one. They form into a circle spinning until all that is revealed is but a circle of light increasing in resonance and hue until it is a burning light accompanied by a vibration that cracks the air itself. Our family step into the heart of this circle where stillness prevails, the heart of the tornado is still beyond stillness. Facing inwards they link hands and commune. Again Morgan sings, this time accompanied by the bass tones of Ybrim. A single word whispered and where once stood three beings, were you, dear reader to be present the sight that would greet you would be singular. Morgan transformed into a single cypher as her sigils, her tattoos coalesce and rise in a singular form as her flesh dissolves and reveals her angelic form, feline, etched in light she flows outwards and dissolves into the circle that spins around them. Ybrim, a single whispered word and he to dissolves and reveals his true form, serpentine, sinuous as he also dissolves into the circle that continues to spin. Likewise Ely whispers a single word and he to is rendered into light as the cyphers form into a singularity and upon the night air a web of gold is hung and sitting at its heart a majestic spider sits. Along the strands of silk that emanate into the night a keen vibration begins and builds into a crescendo that draws the circle into itself and at this point a final whisper is heard upon the night air. Farewell beloved Ely we enter the city of pyramids this night and await the time when you will join us. Know that we are with you and our love guides and protects you always. Silence. Ely falls to the grass and silently dreams

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Ave Samael Ben Grigori

N#7) H3 =*$ 9(#%#" II

The Dawn Of The Avatar

Rising from the grass feeling refreshed and invigorated Ely shakes off the dew that has settled on his clothing and prior to heading back to the house chooses to descend to the seashore and enter the embrace of the ocean and give thanks. Walking back the way they had come the night before he passes along a goat track which winds its way between majestic rocks which rise on all sides of him. The scree beneath his feet causes him to be wary of each step as the incline deepens and it is all he can do to remain upright and apart

from one mishap that causes a painful graze upon his cheek Ely finally makes it to the seashore. The air alive with ozone and the crackle of expectancy Ely scales the boulders that separate the ocean from the land and finally immerses himself up to his knees in her liquid embrace. Closing his eyes he directs his head towards the sun and relishes the warm glow upon his face and the dancing motes of light behind his closed eyelids. In his reverie he almost misses the hint of a presence but feels it as if a magnet had entered his heart for his eyes are snapped open and there before him, rising out of the ocean itself a form breathtaking in its beauty. She is naked but for the coral and seaweed woven into her golden hair. Droplets of water sparkle in rainbow hues as they fall from her skin. Noble of form, in stature tall, lithe, the body of a dancer, fine of feature, cheek bones a razors edge, nose aquiline above which a pair of almond eyes, stained violet at their heart, shone like bright suns. Crowned by a mane of golden hair, bright as the sun itself, hung in swathes across her shoulders and shrouded the nape of her neck, cascading, like a waterfall over breasts of milky opalescence crowned by aureoles of crushed peaches. Travelling downwards across muscle firm yet yielding to that secret place nestled between thighs of softness, covered in a fine down of gossamer strands of silk. Legs, long, tapering to an ankle of fine bone and sinew. Feet slim yet strong. Many had sought her through her life, for her beauty, for her mystery, each of them now lay dreaming within her womb.

Advancing towards Ely who now attempts to rub the wonder from his eyes only to discover she yet remains. She takes his hands in hers and gazes deeply into his eyes and in that gaze all is revealed. They embrace and in a liquid kiss melt into the ecstasy of union. She whispers in his ear, the sound of a leaf upon a gentle breeze, the sound that passes between a mother and her child and the sound that exists between the stars as they dance in celestial harmony into eternity. Yes dearest one I come as summoner and summoned by name, like you I have many but to the true I am Na’amah your Namrael. I greet thee Samael, son of the starbeam as the oceans deep to your stellar beauty. Across time and space and between the aethyrs have I sought you. History has spoken of us many times and now, once again we manifest in this the vale of tears. Greetings my lord it is I thy ladye Fayre. Beloved.

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The Ladye Fayre

Whereof the thoughts That course the heavens of her mind

Made swift by mercury’s quicksilver mantle Whereof the beating of her heart cradled

Whereof the tide and upon what Exotic shores does she lay

Whereof the dreams in a bed of liquid light Carry her aloft to join the dance eternal

Whereof the angels who upon Her breath are called forth

Whereof the faerykind her sisters within whose embrace she does dwell

Whereof the goddess her oracle does reside

Whereof the quest across mountain and valley Desert and ocean

Of the Earth is she made

Of oceanic Water does her blood flow

Of Air her breath passes eternal

And of Fire is her vision made complete What truth does reside within her essence

What secrets within her heart And what are the bounties

Her body graces and brings forth She travels deep and wide

Like the ocean her tides an eternal song Like a field of corn beneath Amber skies she blesses all

And like the passing breeze does she alight A butterfly upon a leaf of emerald

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Reluctantly they step back from the embrace and it is then that Ely notices that like himself Na’amah is cyphered in glowing tattoos also. Beneath her golden hair her scalp is etched with runes and patterns intricate and subtle. Above her left breast she is scribed with the eye of Horus, crowned and conquering in his glory and upon her back at the base of her spine a winged scarab of Khephren holds in his horns a black sun whose rays dance upon her flesh transforming from one form to another as if etched in liquid light.

In close proximity their cyphers dance upon the air between them igniting the aethyrs with fire that spirals inwards and outwards, finally resting at a stillpoint that holds their gaze. And in that gaze they are transformed for before the eyes of Ely stands a golden maiden adorned in the finest white lace and he a jester in motley of black and gold. They dance within the upturned palms of the goddess who holds them in her embrace and as they dance a single blood red tear is shed between them which falls upon a waxen cheek. Consummation. And in this form they leave the seashore, giving thanks to the ocean deep as they climb the cliffs, hand in hand and retire to what is now Ely’s home, a home he left but a night ago and yet an eternity has passed. Like children, like lovers they danced from one room to another until exhaustion claimed them and they fell where they stood upon cushions of silk and velvet. Hand in hand, heart in heart Hypnos took them into his embrace and they dreamed. For three rapturous years Ely knew peace and in the embrace of his lady sought naught but to remain so throughout the unfolding of days and into eternity itself. During this time our erstwhile lovers learned of the secrets each held within their hearts and natures. Ely was told of how Na’amah had first come to this world wrapped in flesh frail and only having a foothold in this realm for she was born of the oceans deep and the land did not sustain her. Through her art and guile she had come to immortality in a singular way. Na’amah took Ely’s hand in hers and told her tale while Ely listened attentively.

I was once mortal, shared in the pleasures of the flesh, yet I knew the worm awaited me, the unrelenting passage of time would bring me into its chthonic realm, this I denied with every fibre of my being, sought long for the means of release from this curse, having searched high and low within the confused ramblings of my kind, the promise of celestial paradise, the entrance to hallowed halls of learning and becoming. I finally realized that this served to distract, assuage the inevitable which I too would come to despite my time honored and cherished illusions. Yes I learned of the sweetness that sours in the light of times passing. I knew pain, hurt as any of my kind would, for as a woman I carry the joys of the world within my womb and also its sin. In time I

came to know the purity of despair and came to savor the austerity of its bitter sweet taste. I found pleasure a paltry affair, visited infrequently by moments, mere moments of anaesthetic release. No more would this be so, I withdrew and so doing ceased to be as I was, and now, would never be again. For I abandoned my kind and their ways. And in the desert of despair left this world, leaving only a shadow self to continue the pretence. That shadow continued, retreated further then it too dissolved and joined me and became she who now sits before you. From the pit of suffering and remorse I arose triumphant and made my pact with the lord of this world, the ever present one, thinly guised as pleasure, as pain and the means of release from both. He took me into himself and shared his glory, his secrets, his yearnings, until I finally joined him and knew rapture pure, undefiled by thought and speech, the chatterings of primates scurrying from darkness to darkness complete. For long aeons I dwelt within my fortress of night, taking my pleasure amongst the legions of the half lives. Distilling from their pleasure and their pain the vital nectar that sustains my form, form which exists within the dark cave of each of their hearts, their lives. They see only my horror and not the beauty of austerity that shines within my heart, the pulse of life that bruises my eyes, eyes that know their hearts and minds. Only suffering they know, for they have not plumbed the depths of despair and its kindred. Then one day I heard your call, a call that the heart rhymes in blood and passion and casts adrift upon the aethyrs, often to go unheard but I my dear one heard and visited as I could and over the years prepared the way for our meeting, a meeting now consummated and a dream made flesh.

Ely understands and shares with her all that is known to him and together they form a pact that crystallizes their purpose. Avatars upon this world, Grigori, watchers in the night abroad at the end of days to herald the passing of all that has gone before and to welcome the dawn of a new world order. Avatars of the heart baptized in blood. Conjured from the very void itself to fulfill a purpose millennia in the making. Together they define and refine their art, prepare and enact the cycles of their invokations, bathe in the nectar of delight and conceive a moonchild, as is their way. And then on the eve of his twenty first summer Na’amah departs and leaves our tale. Her departure witnessed by Ely after the fashion that Morgan and Ybrim had left. They walked by the ocean, the waves lapping at their toes and turning to Ely Na’amah with sadness in her eyes tells Ely of her need to depart for she too has been called to the city of pyramids to prepare the way for Ely’s arrival. Ely is saddened and in his heart the light is extinguished. Placing a final kiss upon his lips Na’amah lets out a piercing scream and the elven surround her and her form evaporates and she becomes limned in liquid light, her cyphers, the tattoos upon her flesh take fire and a single scarabeous rises from the ashes of her form, a whispered farewell my love, unto eternity and beyond and she is gone leaving Ely spellbound on the shoreline, tears rolling down his cheeks and in his heart a single thought is distilled, am I to remain upon this world having had my parents claimed for some higher purpose and now my beloved likewise? And in this way Ely learned the meaning of his true name, the desolate one.

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III

The Decay Of The Angel

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And at the end of days

There shall be two Grigori upon the earth And they will die

The Book Of Enoch

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And now our Ely broods. Alone, cast adrift, uncertain but of one thing he is certain, the idyl that has been his life must end. His sanctuary now a prison that projects upon him memories unbearable. Here his beloved mother Morgan sat and told him stories of beauty and mystery. Here she held him in her loving arms and kissed his upturned face. Here in this hall Ybrim taught him the arts that made him strong in body and mind and here his beloved Na’amah granted him the treasure of her body into whose ocean he dived, weightless and free only to be bound by loss and the remorse that stands attendant. Yes uncertain Ely is but in this he finds strength and resolves to enter the mystery that is the world of man.

Placing seals upon his fastness so no intruder might enter he bids farewell to his sanctuary and without a backwards glance walks the path that leads to the port that lies a days walk from where he stands. He takes little with him. He carries none of the gifts received from Ybrim, gifts that would protect him for he resolves to enter the world naked. To be but a leaf cast upon unknown winds, to drift as is the lot of those he would now join. All he carries are provisions for a days walk and sufficient coin to book passage upon the first vessel to leave this his once blessed homeland, to wander and perhaps in time to be washed up on hopes golden sands and know some pleasure in this the vale of tears and live out his life a testimony to loss and

desolation.

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Yet unknown to him the stars have woven their own tapestry. His destiny, his sacrifice, the seal of fate that has been his life and its preparations for what is to come. The day bright as he walks the path of his choosing and at eventide he enters for the first time the first town he has known. Struck by the run down appearance of the buildings he senses the entropy carved into every brick and the look of the lost upon the faces of those he encounters. Dogs run the streets in search of scraps and in dark corners, hidden from sight children play their games. Innocence stained by the life that is their legacy. Here a mother carries a bundle, her child who wails and Ely’s heart is torn. Here a legless man in rags begs for alms from men and women who see him not. And there a woman sells her body to the highest bidder for a crust and a draught of oblivion. Litter is blown down the streets to gather in corners where vermin sort from the detritus for something, anything that might sustain them. He turns a corner and there stands an inn. Perhaps a meal and resting place

and perhaps information as to a ship bound for some exotic shore? Entering, the smell of sweat is mixed with smoke that rises from pipes and this enters his nostrils causing him to retch as if in the presence of some toxin that invades his senses and sews seeds of further desolation. Our Ely feels at home and joins the others leaning at the bar. He asks for water of the barman who with his one remaining eye sneers in response. You buy a drink or its back to the street for you. Complying Ely orders ale and asks if there is anyone, a ships captain, perhaps of whom he might enquire as to passage from these shores. The barman stabs his finger in the direction of a tall figure seated by the fire. At first glance Ely sees the man to be in his forties, tall, unlike those present in the inn and of a complexion that tells of warmer climes. His clothing reminds Ely of a military costume he saw in a book of such things. His hair hangs in dank dark locks and dresses his shoulders as if a shroud. On the table before him amidst the remaining debris of a meal sits a sword and bag of what Ely takes to be coins. Like the others he smokes a pipe that sends plumes of dark blue clouds into the air, air starved of vitality but Ely assumes this to be quite normal and approaches the man. The man looks up at his approach and Ely finds himself looking into eyes cloudy and sheened with a yellow pall that

speaks of sickness. Might I join you Ely asks politely? If you must comes the curt reply. Sitting Ely surveys the table and his unfriendly companion. Do you have a ship, he asks? For those who have the coin for passage, spits out the captain in reply. Then I would book passage, where are you bound? To the northern lakes, the icefields in search of a worthy cargo. Then I will join you if I might? As I said, the captain replies, if you have the coin for passage? I do. Then meet at me at the pier at midnight when we leave this port. Then let us seal the bargain and Ely offers the captain his hand and introduces himself, I am Ely, and how might I address you? Raspire comes the reply. Then Raspire we meet at midnight. Ely rises and leaves the inn and enters the night surrounded by the debris of this forlorn port and town. Time drags as is often the case but finally Ely heads towards the pier having received directions from a young woman heading to her place of rest. Ely heads off in the direction indicated, turns a corner and is set upon by a group of ruffians who bludgeon him until his senses flee him and he falls to the ground, collapsed and broken amidst the mud that mires the path.

Finally he wakes in darkness with a head fit to burst and attempts to rise only to find himself bound and chained. The days pass and his only contact is with a cabin boy who brings him but a bowl of water and a stale crust of bread daily. No words are shared as the boy enters fulfills his task and leaves, only to return and perform this daily ritual. Ely takes stock of his situation and being unfamiliar with the ways of the world takes this to be quite normal and resigns himself to his fate.

What feels like weeks later but in truth is but a handful of days the ship runs into a storm. From his prison Ely gauges it to be severe and the panic on deck stands testimony to his thoughts. Perhaps this night I die, he muses and as if by prophecy the planking of his prison is torn asunder and sea water pours into the breach. Ely knows fear for chained as he is what means of escape exist for him? The prison cell fills rapidly and in a short time Ely is submerged and water enters his lungs as he gasps out what he takes to be the last moments of his life. His adventure cut so very short, not even begun. The last seal on his desolate state and then a rending as the ship is cast upon another rock and the planking securing his chains is splintered and Ely floats free and with the last remaining breath in his lungs kicks upwards in search of light and air.

And this is how he came to be washed up on a foreign shore, surrounded by what remained of the destroyed ship. He rises, no sign of life and he heads inland and this is how he chanced upon the beach hut where we left him at the outset of this our tale. And now we return to the suspended moment and find Ely not regaining consciousness amidst the dust and debris of

the beach hut but upon a bed of straw surrounded by curious and concerned faces. His body has been washed, his chains removed and he is dressed in a coarse linen garment, Eat, drink requests an ancient with a toothless grin. Her smile is sincere and Ely warms to her immediately. Where am I, he asks? Ah we found you in the abandoned beach hut and brought you here the better to tend to your wounds and sorry state. I thank you, Ely replies. As to where you are, the hamlet of willow deep in the land of Estrella she stated with an air of pride as if her home were the very centre of the world. And where do you call home, she asks? A far off land where I lived with my parents in a palace atop cliffs overlooking the ocean and latterly shared with my beloved. All were taken from me and I left and came to this state of things, a wanderer cast adrift upon the void. You are marked most strangely. Your body covered in images and words we have no knowledge of. What mean they? They are the seals of my family. My inheritance as I perform my task. Yes as foretold by our elders the ancient says with an air of reverence in her voice. We also found this upon your body as she reached out and placed in Ely’s hands an oilskin containing two scrolls. Ely breaks the seals and finds intact the scrolls he had carried with him. The first his legacy to humankind. The second his promise of rest and reunion with his loved ones. Anathema as the first scroll was called was the completion of the work he did with his beloved Na’amah. Ritual upon ritual performed during their brief time together and given voice in words Cyphered in magick. The second a poem written by her and gifted to him as a sign of the promise that existed between them. The ancient takes Ely’s hands into her own, creased and marked by the ages, he feels their warmth and is heartened by the touch, the contact and lets out a deep sigh. You have been augured and this night we assist you on the last steps upon your path she whispers.

We have prepared as best we can and now await the rising of our holy lady who this night waxes full. The once concerned faces, the ancient amongst them are transformed as the light of the moon enters the room and amidst the lambent light supplied by candles and the rapture of perfumes upon the air the Elven reveal themselves. Beloved Ely, your task completed, for as our avatar have you opened the portal that now bathes this world in the light of the black sun. A light that will burn the stain from the hearts and minds of all sentient beings across time and space. Your task has been arduous but know you have been attended at all times, cradled and nurtured in the embrace of your loved ones who now await you in the city of pyramids. Join them and take your rest in eternity.

Upon hearing these words Ely removes the coarse linen garment and lies naked upon the bed bathed in moon and candle light. The Elven form a circle around him and begin their dance, a spiraling circle that creases the air, folds time and space and at the apex of their circle, now a spiral a black sun shines resplendent. Its rays pierce and enter every pore upon Ely’s body and he sees the faces of his beloved ones, Morgan smiles, Ybrim casts him a heartfelt greeting and Na’amah imparts a kiss that enraptures him as his flesh begins to dissolve and his cyphers, his tattoos take fire. His family seals, now golden turn his flesh to carbon and those representing the elements claim all that is of him that is of this world. One by one they spiral in liquid light and dissolve leaving only a golden web upon the air. A web he now absorbs into what remains of his consciousness and being and now rises the great arachnid that wove her spell and danced her web lines into being as Ely Cyphered in his true form rises, golden mist that is absorbed into the spiral formed by the Elven and they begin to sing. A song sang by stars as they pass along the corridors of eternity. The Elven rise and with Ely at their heart they soar into the aethyrs and to the ocean they return and were you see that final moment, beneath the moon twin towers rise cradling a crescent and into the hands of our lady is ElY delivered, where he dances eternal with his ladye fayre, she adorned in cloth of white lace and he in gold and black. Slowly this vision evaporates and dissolves into amniotic oceans embrace. As to Ely he dwells within the city of pyramids, his home eternal, blessed by the love of those angels amongst whom he is counted. Since the dawn of time itself have they been present and at this time, the end of days have they woven their spells and their essence into the very fabric of time and space.

And now our tale concludes and we leave you with three items to peruse at your leisure. The first, the essence of our tale, cast as a stone into a pool of liquid light. The echoes reverberate throughout eternity and gift life with the jewel call the soul. Life within life within life eternal. The second and third items the scrolls left by Ely at the site of his return to eternity and the embrace of his loved ones. Perhaps they will be found by the discerning or perhaps they will remain forever buried in the hearts and minds of all sentient beings and inform the very elixir that gives rise to flesh.

In the Night Of Pan it is dawn and the Black Sun rises

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Golden the light Velvet the air

Upon the shore a skylark sings And in the heart a ruby wine does flow

Gentle breeze, the leaves do stir Day star descends into oceans embrace

Brings light, brings warmth to the creatures below And in its cascading flow a single whisper is heard

Golden child ascend And from the waters take flight

Borne upon wings of liquid gold stained red Enter eternity the moment and rejoice

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Dear Reader our tale took place outside the circles of time, during the night of time itself, when dreams were made flesh and all that was, existed in the dreaming moment. Was, is and will be, in the passing of each thought and the echo of each desire. Is written into the memory time. And if, upon a night of starry beauty, your gaze be pulled to the heavens, know that the witness and his Elohim continue the unmaking through your hearts and minds, your bodies and your souls.

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And what are your thoughts my dearest 0ne? she asked, raising her eyes to meet his, and in that moment of their eyes meeting he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her question was not one for little consideration.

Ah, but we race ahead and like all stories we need a beginning, a sense of time and place, of purpose and destination. Who are our characters? What of their history and what brings them to this moment in time and to this place?

Of our characters we will speak little for their story has been told elsewhere within the words and pages of another time. It is enough to know that their meeting was but a short time ago upon the shores of a wind swept sea beneath a leaden sky, waves rolling upon the stones that formed this beach that we now begin to envisage. Gulls squabbling over scraps tossed to them by wayfarers, each bent upon their own purpose. He sits, as is his habit, solitary, musing upon the times and those things which have befallen him within this his life and world. Of age, uncertain for he carries the ambience of youth, yet a youth seeded with the fires of travail, of experience beyond his seeming narrow years. Of stature, slight, as though he would erase even this presence from the recognition of others. Muscular, evidence of his pursuits within the understanding of the Greeks. His features fey, as if transported from the realm of sylph or undine. Hair, dark, hanging like a waterfall across his now bent shoulders. And yet it is his eyes that reveal the greatest mystery. Golden stained violet at their heart. The mark of his kind, a token of remembrance within this world of dream and forgetfulness.

Namrael

And with these eyes he has witnessed the wonders of a child’s laughter, seen the beauty in the folds of a rose and its petals, dreamed upon the cascading fall of stars out of an indigo night and looked into the heart of another in search of belief. Eyes which, as the witness have seen history unfold between the breath of ages, history written in blood and deceit.

And now he muses upon these, his last days upon this world. Yes he has known Love unredeemed, yes harvested the bounty and beauty that the world offers her errant children. Known victory and defeat, joy and sorrow in equal measure.

Once he had lain upon a golden hill, the earth beneath, embracing him as would a mother her child and above the diamond bright night sky shone, a mantle of stars, each a tiny pin prick that pierced his skin, releasing the ecstasy that dwelt at his very core and with each breath he felt himself erased and cast adrift upon the night air. And now, like then is his breath is caught upon the tide, rolling eternally back and forth upon this foreign shore and time.

A gull, insistent, gains his attention, pulls him back to the moment and his purpose and with the tang of the ocean rousing his dormant senses he begins to remember. A breeze gentle catches at the folds of his coat, which he wraps tighter around himself against the sudden cold.

Alone he sits, his heart calls forth in cyphers of blood and bone, calls forth between the folds of his breath, between the beats of his heart and between the passing of each thought until finally he comes to rest in silence. It is then that he sees another. She rises as if from the oceans depth itself and walks in his direction. The sun burns its way through the leaden clouds and forms a nimbus around her casting rainbow light before her, each step she takes towards him etches memory into his awakening senses and were we to look closer, the dawn of a smile embraces his lips and eyes. Her form elven, tall and slender, wrapped in a cloak of velvet, deep as night. Sewn into her long golden hair the tokens of earth and sea. Like his her eyes, when he finally glimpses them, golden stained violet at their heart. Her features though sharpened into high relief possess a quality of mutability, as if she transformed before his eyes into all those he had known.

The Kiss

She sits beside him, gracefully and honours the silence that unfolds between them. A silence rich with feeling and meaning as if they communed and spoke in cyphers of understanding.

Finally she asks the question, and what are your thoughts my dearest 0ne? And we return to our moment of beginning, our tale, a tale now fleshed in some detail of character, time and place.

And upon hearing this question his eyes are raised and sweeping the golden veil from her eyes, he gazes into the liquid orbs before him. I but dream, my love, dream upon the currents of the sea, dream upon the cascade of stars falling into the eternal night, dream of hope, of redemption within this the vale of tears.

Yes dearest, she replies, dream my beloved for in such ways are we united. I rise from the oceans depth this day to share a moment, stolen from the fabric of space, of time, to embrace you, as ever in this unfolding moment. She offers him her hand and he feels the softness of this fleeting embrace and clutches it in his memory, for as ever it too will pass and he will return to his slumbers within amniotic oceans embrace.

My thoughts, my love, as ever dwell with you, in the steps you take within the unfolding of your days. Will greet each new morn with you in the rapture of mystery unfolding. Will catch you as you fall, embrace you beneath the mantle of the moon. Share the joy that informs your heart and the sorrow which bleaches your eyes. Will walk beside you upon clifftops and golden valley until the day death claims and unites us in eternity.

She sighs and places a kiss upon his lips, a kiss that burns away the separation, yet burns away the hope and leaves the emptiness that is but his to claim and embrace.

And as ever she departs, rising and entering the ocean, into the embrace of its arms she steps and upon the air a diminishing echo, remember and be at peace my April Fool.

The Seduction

Vide Cor Meum

Once upon a hill of flint beneath an ocean of stars I called unto thee. Vision burned within eyes, pale mirrors of thy glory and in the velvet silence of midnight an answer came. Now like one turned to ash beneath thy gaze I wander upon the shores of night. Shadows attend me, their whispers seductive yet bereft of life as they turn upon the wheel of thy becoming. Errant shades caught within a web of whispers. Burn their presence from my sight and grant the benediction which is thine alone to grant. Make of my body a sigil, celebrating thy presence and within thy embrace might I reside until time itself tumbles into memory, dull mirror of thy glory.

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Once within a lake of fire I called unto thee and as my form evaporated into thy breath did I rise purified, made whole in thy sight and yet a shadow cast upon memories dull mirror. Flesh melted into a pool of amniotic mist. Blood boiled and became as liquid gold. Bone dissolved by thy acid touch and as thy kiss parted lips parched did I ascend on thy breath. In that crucible was I formed and upon midnights eternal shore was I cast. Sent forth amongst the legions of the damned. Anathema to all I beheld. Witness and scribe cast thy spells upon the aethyrs. May thy body be thy pen, thy blood the very ink of inscription and upon the papyrus of life inscribe the axiomata of bliss.

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Once beneath the ocean I called unto thee, reached out a hand and felt thine in mine, only to slip away. Was it but a moment ago that flesh met flesh and melded into a single heart? Through eyes yet dim did I behold thee? With ears confounded by deceit did I yet comprehend thee and upon my lips did I not taste of the nectar that drips, honeyed, from the petals of thy rose? Life steps briefly behind the veil of eternity, takes a bow and collapses into singularity. Waves resolve themselves into ripples and as the reflection settles a new form arises, takes a stumbling step and the pageant unfolds.

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Once upon a summers breeze I called unto thee. Wings unfurled did I descend into thy embrace, felt thy heartbeat upon my breast and released an anguished sigh. Mistress of my soul I serve as a reflection of thy presence within the vale of tears. Thy whispered word a thunderous command. Thy desire a template of mine acts and thy form the vessel in which I travel across the aethyrs celebrating thy song of rapture. The breeze rises to a scream and upon its echo do I now continue my quest beneath a field of golden stars, each bears witness to thy presence and in the sanctuary of their hearts is thy judgement reflected upon the mirror of their minds.

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The four regents converged and therein I called unto thee, a whisper traveling down the corridors of time, an echo bears witness to longing. Solve Et Coagula. The axiomata burn the aethyrs and mist rises, caught in lungs and sent forth as Invokation. Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast. The Archons and Vesicas gather, summoned from slumbers deep and rise upon pinions of starlight and between the vast reaches of space the stars whisper to each other. Bear witness o child of ages and rejoice, return to thy dreams cloaked in a mantle of deepest midnight and walk invisible amongst the shades that attend thee.

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Sic Transit Gloria Rosa Mundi. Make of my body a temple unto thy service. Make of my blood a river that flows, constant to thy commands. Make of my tears an ocean of prayer. Make of my breath incantations of desire and of my heart make a cauldron wherein the regents are conjoined in eternal rapture. Distil the prima mater and of this condense but a single drop and offer this upon the altar as a benediction and votive offering unto thy name, Babalon the fair, maiden and whore garbed in silk and gold, drunk upon the blood of saints and astride the beast of thy dominion. Ave Lilith. Ave Isheth. Ave Ygrat. Ave Na’amah. Ave.

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Twin pylons upon a desert plain of calcified bone. Twin beacons upon the shores of night. Twin souls conjoined in rapture, embraced by our holy lady. The rays of an ebon sun bathes them in lustral light and venom pours forth upon the heads of all. Archon and Vesica, avatars of the end of days. Seek them not in exotic climes or within the chambers of thine heart for they walk invisible amongst thee. Purified by Ignis. Consecrated by Aqua. Cast upon Aethyr and manifest in Terra. Solus Noir and Lammae Rouge. Samael and Lilith. Archon and Vesica of Ordo Templi Solus Noir. The flesh redeemed and made whole.

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